


Otherside

by thelogicalloganipus (awkwardkermitfrog)



Category: Sanders Sides
Genre: Character Death, Death, Depression, Gen, the denial of death, tw death, tw suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 21:41:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14173983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardkermitfrog/pseuds/thelogicalloganipus
Summary: This is a companion fic - not a sequel - to "I Feel Fine". You can read that first, or you can read these each seperately without reading the other, as they aren't related plot wise - but they are dealing with the same subject matter.I'm not sure how in-character Patton is here, so if you have some points to hit on - some constructive criticism - I'm more than open to hearing it. Patton's always hardest for me to write.Warnings: Death, talk of suicide, suicide, the denial of death, depressionIf you see these warnings and think "nope" that is fine! I am fine with people not reading things if they aren't in the right mindset to read them. Keep yourself safe first, always.





	Otherside

Heat.

That was the first sensation I noticed - heat on my skin, heat pressing my hair to my scalp, heat causing my T-shirt to cling to my backside. Cicadas buzzed around me in crescendo and I found myself shutting out the hum of their collective voices, trying to fall back asleep.

A headache. 

I rolled over, groaning, burying my face into something that was not my pillow. It felt rough and scratchy instead, rubbing against my face, causing me to open my eyes and see dirt and grass. 

Grass. Not a blanket, but grass. On the ground. Grass.

I sat up and blinked, reaching for my glasses automatically - but they, like my bed, were not there. Instead I pulled up a clod of dirt and some grass roots. The stuff rolled out of my hands and through my fingers and I realized with a start that my hand was as clear in front of me as if I were wearing my glasses, as if I had perfect vision and had had it my whole life. I stared, mouth agape, trying to close my jaw. 

“What a weird wild dream.” I whispered. 

I stood up and looked around. Surrounding me was an open field, a tree scattered here and there, the horizon stretching for miles. I noticed first that the trees were barren and looked like they had been charred by lightning, bark peeling and branches dry. I walked towards one, not sure of what direction I was going, not sure where my mind was taking me. 

I sat down under a tree, attempting to get some shade, and looked around, wondering about the heat and the dryness of the air around me.

From the distance, something stirred into a shape of a man. The heat and the haze beating down from the sun made him blurry and I squinted, watching him approach. He had a languid, relaxed walk about him. As he was not in a hurry, I continued to sit, staring at him as he walked towards me, watching him become clearer in my vision until he was standing right in front of me, looking at me with a blank expression.

“Hello. Who are you?” I asked, standing up. I offered my hand. “My name is-”

“Patton Roger Foley.” The man replied. He pushed black glasses up his nose. 

I kept my hand out, trying to ignore my nerves. “Who are you?”

He clicked his tongue. “I apologize, I am not one for introductions. Why is your hand out?”

“It’s a handshake. You put two hands together and hold on and shake them.” I replied cheerily. 

The man reached his hand out, slowly, and put his hand in mine. Unlike the sun, his hand felt cool and soft. I shook it, a bit vigorously, and tilted my head, smiling at him. My expression faded. He did not shake back. He took his hand from mine and crossed his arms, looking at me coolly. 

“Are you ready to come with me?” He asked simply. 

“Where are we going?” 

He let out a tut-tut and shook his head. “Come along. We have a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it. Unless you would rather stay here alone?”

“Uh… no. I guess not. But I don’t know where here is.” I answered. “Where are we going? And how do you know my name?” I asked, crossing my arms.

The stranger turned away from me and began to walk, a bit more quickly than he had walked to me, and I found myself following him, trying to get an answer.

“Wait! Slow down! At least tell me your name?” I danced around him, blocking his path, but he continued to walk, undeterred.

“I do not have a name. Not one that you can pronounce.” He answered simply.

I frowned. “Try me.”

He stopped walking. Out of his mouth came a strange sound, like a song mixed with a spoken word, both loud and quiet. The field around us whistled and I blinked, nodding.

“You’re right. I can’t pronounce that. But I have to call you something.” I tilted from leaned from side to side, tilting my body. “What should I call you?”

“Whatever you like. Let’s keep moving.” And with that he was walking again. 

“Hmm. Robert? No. Peter? No. That’s my brother’s name.” I continued to walk around him in circles, thinking, bouncing. “Oh! I knew a guy in college named Logan. Dressed like you. I’ll call you Logan.”

“Whatever you like.” He answered. 

I stopped dancing around him and walked next to him a moment, kicking at the dirt. “I’m sorry, but can you tell me how you know my name? And where we are? And where we’re going? I’ve never had a dream that I couldn’t find the answer to.”

“I’m afraid there are some conclusions you have to come to on your own.” Logan answered. “Some things I can show you. Other things you must discover.” He stopped, suddenly, and shook his head. “I apologize. This is my first time acting as a guide. It must seem very abrupt from your perspective.”

“A guide?” I frowned. “For what?” 

“I’m not supposed to tell you until you’re ready.” Logan shook his head again, staring out into the field. “Whatever that means; I’m sure you’ll know. That’s what all my textbooks say. In the meantime, I am to walk you to your destinations. Do you see that house?” 

I looked where Logan was pointing and immediately saw what he meant - a house with peeling blue paint, a little white porch, and something familiar. I squinted. “That’s… is that my house?”

“Is it?” Logan asked, now walking again.

“It looks like my house. But not where I live now. It looks like a house we lived in when I was maybe four or five. It can’t be.” I stopped, staring at it, at all the little details exactly the same as I’d seen in photographs, trying to figure out if I should feel excitement or nervous energy. “It looks too perfect.”

“Is it?” Logan stepped onto the porch. I followed and found myself walking up to the window.

A little boy ran by, a blond little boy, laughing, followed by another boy, slightly larger, carrying a Nerf gun. I pointed, laughing. 

“That’s my brother and me! That’s me and Peter!” I peered into the window, watching us play and laugh together, him shooting me with the gun, me throwing pillows at him. “Wow, it’s so… it’s so real.”

I looked over at Logan, who was watching me curiously. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Yeah it’s just - I mean - can I go inside?” I asked, turning around to the door handle.

“If you wish.” Logan nodded. “I will not stop you. In fact, I would advise it.”

I almost squealed with glee and turned to open the door knob, ready to experience all the smells and nostalgia of childhood- but it didn’t open to my childhood home. 

Instead, there was the interior of a small, dingy apartment. A television played, full of static and dust. I walked around gingerly, looking at dirt and trash that littered the apartment, taking a long deep breath. Bits of cigarette ash and books lay askew and the home shopping network advertised a necklace. Next to the table lay a bottle of brown liquor, and I suddenly found myself with the urge to pick it up and take a drink.

“Logan, you’re the guide. Why am I here?” I asked, voice strained.

“Where is here?” He asked, stepping next to me, surveying the walls and the old furniture. “Where are we?”

“It’s where my grandmother used to live after she lost her house.” I muttered. I considered sitting on the couch, remembered its condition and squeaks, changed my mind. I sniffed the air and was greeted with tobacco and whisky, smells that when tied together brought me to old memories of laughing at ridiculous infomercials and staying up late to cook pancakes. I closed my eyes to it, shut myself off to her voice, her raspy laugh. “I’d like to leave.”

“Where is your grandmother right now?” Logan asked, moving in front of me, looking at me.

“She died.” I whispered. “So… heaven or hell. She’d say hell. Always joked she wasn’t a good Christian. I thought she was a great  _ Chris _ -tian - because her name was Christine? Get it?”

“How did she die?” Logan asked, persistent, to the point.

I looked away, looking at the wall, smile fading. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“How did she die?” Logan repeated, ignoring me.

“I want to leave.” I said quietly. “Please, can we leave.”

“Tell me how she died.” Logan said, voice more stern. He softened. “Please. I need to hear you talk about it.”

I sighed. “She fell asleep smoking a cigarette and lit herself on fire. There. Can we go? I don’t like being here.”

“How did her death make you feel?” Logan asked.

I turned to Logan, shocked. “Horrible, how do you think it made me feel? Why do you think I don’t want to be here?” 

“And you would probably give anything to extend her life.” Logan added.

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course. I didn’t want her to die like that, it must’ve been horrible. I miss her all the time.”

Logan nodded. He examined me carefully before turning to another door, a door that had once led to my grandmother’s cleaning closet. “Let’s continue.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and walked forward, placing my hand on the knob. I smiled nervously. “I’m anxious now. Where are we going?” 

“Open the door.” Logan’s tone was firm. I sighed, making a face, and turned the handle, both wanting to stay in my grandmother’s apartment and leave as soon as possible.

Beautiful windows and decorations cast colored light onto pews, rows and rows of pews. I sat down at a bench in the back, looking around curiously. It seemed no one was in the church but us. Our steps felt loud, overpowering, like we were invading a sacred space. 

“Where - when are we?” I asked Logan, whispering, who sat next to me, sitting up perfectly straight.

“Look.” Logan pointed to the front of the church and waited.

At the front of the church was a casket, decorated with a bouquet of lilies. I shook my head and went to stand up, but found my legs were made of lead. 

“I would like to leave.” I said to Logan, almost hissing. “I don’t know why you brought me here. I don’t like this journey. I would like a pleasant dream.”

“Where are we?” Logan asked.

“This kid in my class. He died. I don’t want to think about it.” I shook my head. “Please wake up, please wake up Patton…”

“Do you still believe you are asleep?” Logan asked, watching me mutter to myself.

I turned, confused. “Logan, you seem very nice. But questions like that scare me. I would like to wake up now. This is turning into a nightmare and I don’t like nightmares.”

“Hmm.” Logan nodded. “Is it a nightmare because you don’t like facing death?” 

“Who does like that? I don’t want to be here - reliving this funeral. It was a long time ago, and I’ve tried very hard to move past it.” I shuddered, my cheerful demeanor fading quickly. 

“Death is inevitable.” Logan looked at his hands, back across the church. “It will happen to us, sooner or later.”

“It always happens too soon.” I whispered. “It’s never a good day to die.”

“Is that what you really believe?” Logan asked, looking at me now. “Have you never considered taking control of your own mortality?” 

I bit my lip, hard. I brightened. “Hey, why do they call it a funeral? It’s no  _ fun  _ at all!”

“Patton, it would benefit you to be serious about this.” Logan said, a bit snappily. He shook his head as my face fell, but persisted. “Did you know him well? Did you know the boy in the casket?”

“Logan, can you stop?” I asked, shaking my head. “Please, I want to stop.”

“I need an answer to the question.” Logan said simply. Then he sighed, softening again. “I apologize for my bluntness.  Please, Patton. Tell me. Did you know him very well?”

“No.” I ran my hands along the edge of the pew. “I didn’t know him at all, really.”

“Why are you so upset about being here? You didn’t know him like you knew your grandmother.” Logan looked at me as I looked ahead, avoiding him. “Why did you go to the funeral at all?”

“Because - he died too soon - he-” I blinked and shook my head, burying my face in my hands. “He killed himself. He was thirteen. How could he do that? How could he do that to his family? Or- or anyone?” 

“Why does that bother you if you didn’t know him?” Logan asked gently. 

I sighed, pulling at my hair, trying not to cry. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me.” Logan said, still firm, still stern.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. I didn’t know him at all.”

“But it does bother you. You grieved him.” Logan looked out into the church. “And you never stopped, did you?”

“No.” I shook my head, sitting up. “I never did.” 

Logan nodded. He looked thoughtful. “Did anyone die in your childhood home?” 

“Uh, well… my dad. When I was very young… four or five.” The realization dawned on me as to where we’d started. “My brother and I were playing and he just… went upstairs and…”

“What did he do?” Logan asked simply.

I smiled, tried to create a distraction. “Wanna hear my favorite joke?”

“How did he die, Patton?” Logan asked again, a bit more firmly.

“So there’s this magician on this cruise ship, right? And the captain has a parrot. And every night the magician performs the same act. And so the magician-”

“Patton.” Logan turned to me, gaze piercing, making me stop in mid sentence. He sighed. “You need to face this feeling. I know it isn’t easy. How did your father die?”

My smile faded. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“I know. You like to pretend nothing is wrong because you want to be a light for others. And that’s noble until it hurts you.” Logan replied. “I need you to talk about this. You need to face it. Please, tell me. How did your father die?”

I looked out into the church and considered the casket in front of me, the casket that had been at my father’s funeral. The blood. The water. “I found him in the bathtub. There was blood everywhere. He bled to death. And I was downstairs playing with Peter. I could’ve gone upstairs, I could have knocked on the door, something. But he said ‘I’m going to take a bath’ and so I left him alone, I… I did nothing.”

“He died by suicide.” Logan finished. “Just like the boy.”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I sniffed. “Yeah.”

“And you blame yourself.” Logan added.

“Well, no, but… I should’ve known.” I muttered. “I should’ve known something was wrong. He was my dad.”

“Which death bothers you more? The boy in your grade, or your father?” 

I considered the question. “The boy. But… I don’t know why. I feel so… guilty about that. My father’s death should bother me more. But I barely remember him, where as the kid… I remembered the kid every day of school until I graduated.” 

“What was his name?” Logan asked.

“Virgil Connors.” I muttered. I stretched my legs, shuffled my feet along the floor and looked away from the front of the room. “Can we please leave? I think I’ve told you enough. I’d like to wake up now.” 

“Whether or not you wake up is up to you. It always has been. Though I must say I’m surprised you still believe you are asleep. I have read about denial, but did not know it could be so… extensive.” Logan said it simply, but it gave me more questions than when we’d started. I watched as he stood up and walked to another door, a door I’d never entered during the funeral service. He stood in front of it and looked at me. I stood and walked to him, opening the door, not sure what to expect.

A bed with a blue blanket, a television, a sleeping cat. And me.

“What’s going on?” I pointed at myself, my sleeping form. “Why am I asleep?” 

“Do you remember how you fell asleep, Patton?” Logan tilted his head, crossed his arms.

I shook my head. “I just dozed off. Nothing special.”

“Think, Patton. Really think. How have you been feeling lately?” Logan asked, pointing at the me that was asleep. “How have you really been feeling?”

“Fine!” I said, grinning. “I’m just great! Why, life is going so well, and I feel just dandy!”

“Patton.” Logan sighed. “Really think about this. Does this feel like a dream?”

“Well... no. But I’m fine. Really.” I nodded vigorously, trying to smile again. My heart hammered. “I’m really fine.”

“You do know you can be honest with me right?” Logan asked. “And if it is a dream, why not be honest with me? It’s just being honest with yourself.” 

“Huh.” I frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. You just want me to say it, don’t you? And then it’ll be over?” 

“I would very much like you to talk about how you are. How you really are.” Logan answered simply. “Be honest with me. How did you fall asleep?”

“I was… I was having a rough month. A rough.. Few years. And so I was drinking. Just to take the edge off, you know? Just to relax. A bit.” I shrugged, shaking my head. I took a deep breath, trying to slow my heart rate. I felt shaken. “Just to relax.”

Logan nodded. “Perfectly normal.”

“And… I took some pills. Some sleeping pills. To take the edge off, nothing more. Just to take the edge off.  And I fell asleep.” I shrugged. 

“What were you feeling when you took the pills?” Logan asked, blunt as ever. 

“Nothing - fine. I felt fine.” I smiled. “I feel fine.”

“Do you?” Logan asked. He sighed. “You don’t have to always smile, Patton. Why did you take the pills?”

“Just to relax. Nothing else.” I smiled. “It was just to relax.”

“Have you been stressed, Patton?” Logan looked at me sternly.

“No more than usual.” I said, nodding, smiling. “Hey, did you hear about the skeleton who went alone to the party? He had no  _ body _ to go with!”

“Patton.” Logan shot me a look again. “You need to be honest with me about your feelings.”

“Do you get it, though?” I asked, smiling wider. “No  _ body _ !”

“Patton!” Logan snapped. He let out a long sigh as my smile faded. “I’m apologize. You aren’t being honest with yourself about what you’re feeling. Have you been stressed?” 

I sighed. “Yeah. A bit.”

Logan nodded. “What’s been going on?” 

“Just… some stuff. I just… I lost my best friend, Roman. We aren’t friends any more. He and I got into a fight and now he wants nothing to do with me. And I lost my job. I’m gonna get evicted. And I can’t go live with my mom. Or my brother.” I muttered, glancing around.

“Why can’t you go live with them? It’s better than being homeless.” Logan said simply. “They love you, one would take you in.”

“I just… I’m too much right now.” I said quietly. I felt like shrinking into the floor. 

“What do you mean by ‘too much’?” Logan crossed his arms, looking at me, expecting an answer.

“I don’t enjoy things. I don’t… smile. Or laugh. I just… lay around.” I shook my head. “I’m not funny or interesting. No one would go out with someone like me if I tried. I can’t even get people to follow my blog. I’m not smart. I’m not cool. And I’m not special.” 

“Why is it important to be special?” Logan pushed his glasses up his nose, waiting for me to say something. 

“You don’t get it. If I’m not interesting, no one will want to be around me.” I swallowed. 

“Is that why you tell jokes?” Logan asked. “To be interesting?”

Logan sat next to me, stared into the apartment. “Yours is an interesting case.”

“Logan?” 

Logan looked at me. “Yes?”

“Am I dead?” I asked, beginning to cry. “You’re getting me worried with all these questions. And this doesn’t really feel like a dream. It feels different.”

Logan nodded. “It’s about time you caught on. It is not a dream.” 

“I just - this I - I didn’t mean to die. Not really. I just wanted to stop the feeling. Please tell me I’m not dead.” I whispered. “Are you like, a guardian angel? Am I dying?”

“You’re not dead.” Logan replied, ignoring a majority of my questions. “But you could be.” 

“What?” I gasped. “What are you talking about?”

Logan sighed. “You are making a choice right now. You have been shown these things to help make your decision. You are close to death. You can choose to stop what you were feeling. You can continue through it. Or, you can wake up and call yourself an ambulance. I am meant to guide you through your experiences and help you make a choice. Life or death. It is your decision. It always has been.”

I began to sob, choking, horrible sobs, looking at myself laying there, barely breathing. “I could die. I could die. I could actually die right now.”

“Yes.” Logan nodded. “If you wish.” 

“But… what will it do to other people?” I asked through sobs. “What about my brother and my mom and my friends?” 

Logan took a deep breath. “Patton, what death it do to you?” 

I tried to take a deep breath, shuddering, shaking. “It made me feel hollow. It still makes me feel hollow. Like…”

“Like?” Logan pressed.

“...Like… like nothing will ever be good again.” I heaved and cried harder, so hard I thought I would break. I held myself, weeping, and shook my head. “This feeling - this weight- the idea that I’m a burden, that no one wants to be around me - it never goes away. Everyone I love goes away. I’m trying all the time, but it’s just too hard. I’m going to feel this way forever. I’m going to feel like this for the rest of my life.”

“You may feel this for a while longer.” Logan agreed. “You may also find that, in a while, you feel good again.”

“No. I’m not going to feel good, I never feel good anymore.” I ran my hands through my hair. “Oh gosh, I hate crying.”

“Do you believe Virgil would have felt better?” Logan asked pointedly. “Do you believe he could have lived a normal, happy life? A fulfilling life?” 

“Yeah - eventually. Probably. I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying to catch my breath. “He always seemed grumpy. But also nice? I don’t know.”

“Have you ever found your life better after someone died?” Logan added.

“No.” I shook my head. “But I’m-”

“Not different.” Logan said simply.

“No one even knows I’m - I’m -” I choked, shook my head.

“Depressed?” Logan asked.

I swallowed, heaved a sigh. “Yeah. That. Everyone thinks I’m so happy. But I feel so disconnected. So… like I’m already dead. I might as well be dead.”

“People though the same things about Virgil. My counterpart took him through the same choices, the same dilemma. He chose death.” Logan sighed. “Such a young life, snuffed out so soon. In the next life, Virgil expressed remorse. He watched his friends grow and find love, and he cried, like you are crying now.” I broke down more, shaking at the thought.  “He remembered you. He watches you, and he knew how you were feeling tonight. He asked me to come. He doesn’t want you to end up like him.” 

I shook my head, disbelieving. Virgil had remembered me. Virgil had asked Logan to save me. I shook, my body laying next to me unmoving, and I found myself reaching for my cat, who did not look at me. I looked at my walls and things and thought about it all, all the little gifts and photos of my friends. I looked at Logan, who was watching me and shuddered. “Virgil asked you to come?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded. “He wants to speak to you again when you are an old, aged man. Not like this. But the choice is ultimately yours. You may live and re-enter your body, or you can come along with me and see what comes after this life. The pain does not end when you die, Patton. It just… changes.”

I tried to take a deep breath to speak and found my vocal chords choked, caught. “I can’t, Logan. I can’t do it.”

“You can’t what?” Logan asked. “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t die.” I muttered, still sobbing. “I can’t die. Please don’t let me die, Logan. Please don’t let me die, I can’t die.” 

Logan touched my back and smiled, the only time he’d smiled. “Don’t forget this.”

  
  


I lurched forward, eyes snapping open, taking a gasping breath. My chest ached. My head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I leaned to the side, breathing heavily, and vomited into my wicker trash basket. Taking heavy breaths, shaking, I got out my phone and dialed. 

“911, what is your emergency?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Given that this is a companion fic to I Feel Fine, I feel like I should leave some notes. These notes will contain spoilers for I Feel Fine.
> 
> This fic comes from, as that one did, a very real place. It does discuss death, but it does it from two different angles. In the other fic death is inevitable, close, impending. In this fic, the situation feels more real (in my opinion). Often we have to make the choice to go on with life, feeling the same way we do, hoping for a better end but unsure when it will happen. To me, that feels more real because it's a choice I have to keep making this time of year, over and over and over. 
> 
> One of my favorite song lyrics is by Macklemore in the song Otherside. (I would highly recommend listening to it.) He says, "We live on the cusp of death thinking that it won't be us." And that is powerful. It's true of so many addictions. It's true of so many things. We live like we're never going to die, we flirt with death as if we're never going to actually see it, as if no one else would notice if we died. And that's what Patton's doing here - he doesn't really want to kill himself. He just doesn't want to keep feeling how he feels. We get trapped, thinking these feelings are forever. And I think we all - myself included - need a reminder that they don't. 
> 
> I mean... I definitely need that reminder.
> 
> It's also important to remember that life can be a very hard choice, and it's no one else's choice but your own. That's a hard reality to accept. Our lives are and are not our own - we are bound to others. But we are also bound to ourselves, our own motivations. Sometimes, to our own sadness.
> 
> I hope you make the choice to stay here. Read another fic. Watch another video. Write something else. Just keep going. 
> 
> I'm certainly trying to.


End file.
